


Peaches

by twoandfour



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Peaches - Freeform, fruit porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandfour/pseuds/twoandfour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a blazing day off in Atlanta, Tom discovers the pleasures of Southern women and summertime fruit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peaches

Atlanta in the summer. After only one week here, Tom understood the nickname the locals had given the city. Hotlanta, indeed. It was boiling. He had intended to get up early for his run but had overslept and was now regretting it fiercely. The park he'd chosen for his run felt like a giant outdoor sauna. Little rivulets of sweat tickled the small of his back under his shirt and he was already through half of his water. Everything was just... hot. The pavement was hot, the sun beating down on his head was hot, the bench where he propped up his foot in order to tie his shoe was hot. 

But, he remarked to himself (always one to try and find the silver lining), the hottest of all were the people. Such remarkably beautiful people in this storied city; people of all shapes and in every hue, each of them possessing something uniquely lovely of their very own. 

Like the young man who'd poured his coffee, this morning. Thin as a reed and the color of lilies, a fetching pink stain on his high cheeks when Tom winked at him after catching him eyeing his bum in his sweats. He gave him a generous tip and a cheeky smile and made a mental note to make that his regular coffee stop.

There was the stunning older mother of three who worked at the hotel's front desk. This time the blush was on his own cheeks. She had ample, almost gratuitous curves, and her rapid-fire Spanish in that honey voice made him oddly giddy. Her hair was curly and fluffy with silver strands standing out against the dark-chocolate locks that she let fly free of any restraints; the overall impression, for him anyway, was of a piping-hot and fancy coffee shop confection, all swirled creamy foam on top and warm bittersweetness underneath.

Then there was that creature who was currently stretching on a patch of grass up ahead. Tom genuinely couldn't tell if the person was male or female or neither or both, not that it particularly mattered. Never really had, for him. People were people and people were lovely. This person in particular was absolutely gorgeous. Close-cropped hair and a high forehead... Lean, long muscles being stretched underneath clothes that lent an intriguing added androgyny. The sun glinted off the sweat that had sprung up from obsidian skin, and he was reminded of water flowing over dark, smooth river stones.

They smiled and he returned it with enthusiasm, nodding politely and continuing on. His mother had raised him better than to stare and gape like a fish.

He was rudely shaken from his reverie by a blast of heat that seemed to roll straight up from the concrete path to consume him bodily. He gasped and slowed his pace, glancing around. Damn this damnable heat. He needed to find some shade, if only for a momentary reprieve from the sun's glowering punishment.

Spotting a small but thick copse of trees a short distance away, he walked in their direction, uncapping his water bottle and taking a few desperate gulps along the way. The little that was left was poured over his hair and face, not that it helped much. This run would have to be cut short. The heat and humidity were insufferable, and now that he was out of water, it wouldn't be safe to continue. He braced his palms against the trunk of a tall tree and pressed into them, pushing his shoulder blades together and hanging his head between his arms to stretch his neck.

Then he heard it. A lovely, low tune being absently hummed. It was sweet and a bit sad. He breathed and listened and it made his heart ache and then soothed it again in the next bar. It was coming from somewhere very close by. He turned and took a few quiet steps, approaching the sound as he would a shy songbird he didn't wish to frighten away.

After a moment's quiet chase, he turned round a bend and out from behind a tree, and stopped short, utterly transfixed. He blinked once, twice, not willing to trust his own eyes. She was like something out of a fevered dream. A dream written by Tennessee Williams and directed by Tennessee whiskey. He didn't mean to stare, but then he didn't realize that's what he was doing. Time and sense had stilled and evaporated.

She was sitting on a low branch, back reclined against the tree's trunk. One leg was bent in front of her, foot resting on the branch, while the bare toes of the other skimmed the grass with each swing of some lazy internal rhythm. Her white cotton sundress had been hiked up, exposing the plump, creamy thighs, the skirt being weighed down between them by her hands.

Dark blonde hair, sun-kissed almost white at the crown, was held off her shoulders in a loose bun, a few escapee tendrils clinging to her heat-damp face. And her face... oh. Round and flushed and with almond eyes framed by thick black lashes and a rosebud of a sweet mouth. She had heavy, round breasts that strained the eyelet lace covering them, and they rose and fell to the rhythm of her breathing as she hummed her song out into the late morning air. 

He was completely in her thrall, and was forgetting to breathe. He felt as though he'd happened upon some sweet Southern wood nymph, or a siren who'd escaped the ocean. She was utterly magical. His animal brain kept flashing him images of plucking at those ripe lips and sucking them like sweet summer cherries, or wrapping his long fingers around the flesh of those plump, pale thighs and squeezing. His skin was humming and his heart raced a staccato beat beneath his sweat-soaked shirt. 

Just when he had nearly summoned up the mental capacity to quietly escape and leave this creature to her daydreams, she reached a lazy hand into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a ball. No, not a ball... A- a peach. Its fuzzed skin was the color of blushing sunset and she turned it over in her hands, smiling. 

Then, in a move that slowed time to a thrumming crawl and sent the rest of the blood in his body rushing rapidly southward from his brain, she raised it to her mouth and bit. The skin snapped beneath her teeth and the flesh gave way as she wrapped her lips around the wound and sucked. For all her efforts, though, some of the juice escaped and sluiced down her chin and neck to disappear into the deep valley between her breasts. 

He let out an involuntary little moan (traitorous little bastard) and clapped his hand over his mouth in alarm. But it was too late. She started and turned in the direction of the sound and their eyes locked, his wide with embarrassment and hers with surprise. And... recognition. Shit. Words were trying to form in his brain and make their way to his mouth as she stared, wet mouth forming an enticing little O. Words like "I'm so sorry" and "Hello, lovely afternoon" and "I'm really not a creeper, I promise". None were forthcoming though, save one breathless pant, and he'd never felt so caught out and helpless in his life.

But she smiled- smiled like sunlight and promises, eyes twinkling- and, sitting up so both legs swung skimming the soft grass, cocked her head and patted the branch in the universal "come and sit" gesture. His eyebrows flew up and he cocked his own head in return as if to say "... really?" 

She rolled her eyes and grinned wider, patting the branch again and a little more emphatically. He lowered his hand and hesitated, but only for a heartbeat, before making his way over- a man in a trance- and sitting down next to her. She smelled intoxicating, the heat floating her jasmine scent right up to his nostrils and causing his sweats to tighten just that bit more. 

She was beaming at him, mischief dancing in her chocolate eyes, and she raised one beautifully arched eyebrow as she extended her arm and brought the peach to his mouth. He blinked at her and she nodded her head. Tom complied and opened his lips, imitating her earlier action by biting through the skin and into the flesh and wrapping his lips round to suck. This time the moan that escaped him was deep and full-throated. He had never tasted anything so glorious as this. 

The flesh was firm and slick, the fuzz of the skin a delightful contrast, and the taste... Oh God, the taste. Like liquid summertime. Sweet and tart and wet and heavenly. And just as before when she had bitten into it, some of the juice willfully fought free of his mouth and rolled down his chin and neck, pooling in the hollows of his collarbone. 

She laughed. A sound like sliced lemons and tinkling crystal and something deeper, like warm chocolate sauce over ice cream. He could get addicted to that sound. It awakened things in him. It was a dip a cool river, refreshing and enervating. 

He turned and flashed his own bright smile at her, eyes dancing with simple joys, delighting in her mirth. She sighed, laugh still playing at her lips, then opening her mouth in invitation and gestured at the peach with her chin. Tom blinked, and brought the fruit to her mouth, then pulled it away just as it made contact. She gasped playfully at the tease and chased it nearer to him. He brought it to her lips once more and pulled it back again, and she slapped playfully at his chest in mock indignation. The touch of her hand was electric; a lightning strike directly to those two hemispheres of his body still battling it out for blood. 

He reached a slightly quavering hand out and gently took her chin in between his thumb and forefinger, tilting it up and placing the fruit to her stained mouth. She held his eyes with hers as she bit, and he couldn't help placing his other hand in her hair and running his fingers through to loosen the knot of the bun. This time, it was her turn to moan. The sound rattled into his fingertips, reverberated through his chest, and without another second thought or moment's hesitance, he set the peach in his lap and went for broke.

He brought her lovely face to his and she met his lips unquestioningly. God, those lips. Sweet and sticky, succulent. They were cool and pliable, malleable, under his. He took one in between his lips and sucked and she pressed her body closer. Taking the hint joyfully, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her flush to himself. Her breasts were crushed against his chest and they heaved as she flicked a pink tongue out to tease at his. 

He pulled her tongue into his mouth and stroked, and she gasped- which he swallowed like needed oxygen- and wrapped one arm around his back while the other came to rest on his thigh. She kneaded and squeezed and drummed as they kissed, and the proximity of that hand to his aching need was agonizing and wonderful. 

She groaned as he tilted her head and began to lick at her chin and down her throat. Her hands flew to cradle his head and run feathery fingers through his hair. When he hesitated just above the neckline to her sweet white frock and glanced up into her eyes, she smiled on a shaky inhale and nodded, tugging his head gently back into position. That was all the invitation that was needed. He reached up and squeezed those lovely, heavy breasts in his hands as he chased the flavor of peach in between them with his tongue. 

When he gently peeled down the top of her dress and mouthed over to take her pretty pink nipple in between his teeth and flick it with his tongue, he was rewarded with a breathy little coo that set his cock positively throbbing. This little Southern sprite would be the death of him, he was sure. Her fingers tightened in his hair and she gasped and groaned as he reached up with his other hand and tweaked and rolled the other nipple in his fingers. 

Then she was pulling his head away and up and attacking his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and licking down his throat to dip into those hollows with her tongue like a hummingbird in search of nectar. He shook her hair loose with his fingers and groaned. Her lips felt magnificent; her tongue stoking the fire in his belly. 

He needed to taste her. Needed to see if her flesh would be as sweet and slick and heavy with wet as the peach was, and he knew- just knew- it would be, but he had to find out for sure. He plucked her up off the branch, her eyes going wide and dark, and placed her gently on the soft grass, cradling her head against any unnecessary impact. She widened her legs and he settled himself between them, and both moaned through a kiss as his hips ground down and she bucked up to meet them. She was so, so hot; the midmorning heat had nothing on the fire emanating from her core and burning against his cock through the fabric of the sweats. 

Reluctantly, as if it cost him something to do it, he sat up and finally- oh, finally- slid his hands up her smooth legs and onto those thick thighs. Her dress came up with the movement and he glanced down, head swimming at the sight of the soaked patch of white cotton covering her sex. He shook on an exhale and cupped her heat in his hand, grinding the heel of it into her, and she stifled a shout with the back of her hand before taking his other hand in hers and guiding his fingers to play at the waist of her panties. 

He feathered touches along the flesh just underneath and then slid them off. Down and down and finally off, placing a kiss to the arch of her bare little foot as he pulled them away. There could be no more waiting. He slicked his fingers through her wetness and she shook into his kiss and then he placed her legs up onto his shoulders and lowered his head to her sopping wet folds. God. Heaven. She tasted like heaven and felt even better under his lips and tongue. Better than. Even better than the peach, he thought, as wrapped his lips around her swollen bud and flicked at it with his tongue.

She was writhing underneath him, undulating against his mouth, and making glorious sounds between her desperate pants, and she was made of nectar and her thighs were a playground for his fingertips. He ran a flattened tongue down and up the length of her as she cried out, then he pointed it and fucked it in and out of her while he stroked her little bundle with the pad of his thumb. 

She went completely still for a heartbeat- two- and then she arched her entire lower body off the sweet-smelling grass and came in rolling waves of pleasure and relief. He could feel her trembling and contracting against his still-working tongue. Glorious. When she finally went still, panting and grinning, he moved up over her again. She took his face into her hands and kissed his lips and his chin, tasting her self and seeking out every last drop. He moaned and returned the kiss, chasing the taste back from her. 

When he pulled back and looked into her eyes, his heart jumped and skipped. The look in them was positively wicked. She pushed him up and then backwards, crawling over him to place her hands on either side of his head, and he felt like a woodland creature that had suddenly found themselves to be prey. She nipped at his bottom lip... then reached over a foot or so and retrieved the forgotten peach. 

He lofted an eyebrow at her but she just smiled wickedly and sat back on her heels. She placed the peach on his stomach, it dripping juice through the fabric of his shirt to pool in his navel, then swiftly peeled his sweats down over his aching erection to his knees. His heavy cock sprung and bounced and her eyes widened as she made a sound of delight and grinned up at him like a child opening a sought-after toy on their birthday. She didn't seem the slightest bit fazed that he was uncircumcised, but before he could make a mental note of it, she'd wrapped both her little hands around his girth and was stroking her thumbs up the underside of him with a delicious pressure that had him jerking his hips up into it.

He groaned deep and thunked his head back onto the grass and she giggled and sighed. He lifted his head and looked up just in time to see her pick up the peach and... and... Oh. God. She- she held it over his cock and dug her thumbs into the bruised flesh and sweet, sticky, fragrant juice spilled down over him in tiny pink rivers. He watched, transfixed and disbelieving, as she then lowered her head to him and licked a long stripe up his length, catching the little droplets on her tongue. He thought his heart would surely give out. 

Then, blazing eyes fixed on his, she swirled her tongue around to loosen the foreskin from the bulging head, and lowered her head down to envelop him. He was panting, quivering, and her mouth was delicious wet heat as he sunk deeper into it. He reached out to wrap his fingers in her hair as she began to slick him in and out of her mouth, those rosebud lips wrapped around him, both hands picking up the slack at the base and pumping him in an alternating rhythm. Her tongue played havoc along the seam and she was surely trying to suck out his very heart and soul. 

His tip was brushing the roof of her mouth on every stroke she made and he could feel every bump and ridge. And then she reached down with one hand to gently squeeze and roll his balls in the palm of her hand. He could feel it climbing and building, what promised to be one hell of a shattering climax, and he was completely at its mercy given the wickedness her mouth and hands were enacting. He was squeezing out short, shallow little breaths and holding onto her hair for dear life, trying his best not to pull it inordinately, and then she slipped a finger down past his balls and firmly stroked his perineum and he was done for.

Words wouldn't come, even though he about to, and he tugged at her hair in warning, but she- surely knowing what the intended message was- only tightened the pressure of her lips and tongue and moved her finger even lower to flatten and press at his entrance.

He exploded. Blinding light and dancing stars and he was painting the back of her throat with his seed and she was swallowing every drop like it was living waters. 

When he could finally open his eyes again, it was to find her face inches from his, a small and tender smile playing at her lips, her body draped partly on top and partly beside his own. He stroked a thumb down her cheek and her smile widened as he drew near to plant tiny kisses all over her mouth. He wedged an arm underneath her and pulled her close, her sigh soaking through his chest and releasing butterflies into his heart.

He cradled and rocked her and she kissed his jaw; sweet little pecks that stirred up the butterflies.

He titled her chin and looked into her eyes. "Come with me."

Her eyes danced. "I just did." Voice like a summer storm.

He poked his tongue out between his teeth and laughed, and she took up the refrain. Then he said, softly, "Please?"

She kissed his lips and smiled, nodding once and sitting up. He followed. And would continue to follow. They made their way out of the little copse of trees, hand nestled in hand and blazing heat forgiven and forgotten. Tom had a feeling he'd never be able to eat a peach in public for possibly the rest of his life. And wasn't that just the best thing ever.


End file.
